Shadowfell by Juliet Marillier

got no more home than you have, lassie. We’re all of us set adrift, letting the storm carry us where it will.’ As he spoke, he was tucking the young one back into the sling, his hands deft and gentle.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said after a moment. ‘What is the old home you mentioned, under the earth? Is that a . . . retreat? A portal to your own world?’ Rumour had it that many of the Good Folk had slipped through into that other place, never to be seen again by humankind.
    Their eyes were full of sadness.
    ‘We’re all bairns of Alban,’ said Sorrel eventually. ‘We live in the same world as you, lassie. The world of the king’s brutes, the world of the poxy mind-scrapers with their fell tricks. As for that other place, aye, it’s real. It’s a hidey-hole. There’s more than a few of our kind went away there when they saw your king’s mischief at work. Sorrel and Red Cap and I, we could do the same. But we’re small folk. Most times, we pass without notice.’
    A shiver went through me, not so much cold as foreboding. ‘I’d best move on as soon as I can, then. Being with me puts you in danger.’
    ‘Because of your gift, aye.’
    ‘That’s what keeps me running. We were warned long ago, my father and I, that the Enforcers might be looking for me. So we learned to lose ourselves in the woods or in the mountains. We learned to hide, to be invisible, as far as an ordinary man or woman can be. A few times they nearly caught up with me.’
    ‘So we’ve heard,’ Sage said. ‘Makes a body wonder what gift it might be that they’re so interested in. Not that the Cull doesn’t stamp hard enough on anyone with a spark of canny knowledge, but this . . . it’s different.’
    If she’d been a human woman, I’d never have spoken of this. But I was beginning to think Sage could be a friend. And it seemed she knew a lot about me already, without ever being told. ‘My gift is to be able to see your kind, even when you are merged into rocks or bushes or water. I know most people can’t see you unless you choose to come out and show yourselves. It’s a simple enough gift.’
    ‘Simple, that’s what you think?’ Sage lifted her brows at me.
    ‘I don’t see how it could be dangerous. I don’t understand why the Enforcers would especially want to find me.’ I remembered the day we had heard they might be looking for me. Shocking news, that had been, sickening, fearful news. But Father and I had been numb from our losses, and we had simply thanked our informant for the whispered warning and slipped away. ‘They may still be looking for me, so I must keep moving on. But you’re right, it would be foolish to rush out there without a plan. If you think my things will dry . . .’ I eyed the tiny fire.
    ‘They can’t get any wetter,’ observed Sage. ‘Spread yon big cloakie over the rock, hook the shawl on a branch, and sit you down a while longer. Then we’ll go higher and take a look.’
    ‘How did you come by that?’ Sorrel asked, looking at the cloak.
    ‘Why do you ask?’
    ‘Doesn’t seem quite right. Something about it.’
    ‘It’s a man’s cloak. A stranger gave it to me, back in Darkwater.’
    ‘Oh, aye.’ That was all the creature said, but I saw his eyes move to the dark swathe of wool from time to time, as if trying to work out what it meant.
    They had questions, then, and I offered answers where I could. I told them about the urisk, and how I had made myself lie still as a log on the ground until the sun had lightened the darkness of the forest. I told them how all my sorrows had come back to me, hearing that mournful voice, and how I had made myself remember something good, so I would not give in to its pleading. I did not speak of Flint. I did not mention Shadowfell.
    When my account was finished, my three listeners exchanged looks that were heavy with meaning. Sage held up seven fingers; Sorrel held up two; Red Cap nodded. But when I asked them what this signified, they busied